First Time Last Time
by montparnassee
Summary: Sherlock is finally back, finally has his John. But so is Moriarty - and this time, John's caught in the middle. Sherlock is left absolutely helpless as he watches his best friend deteriorate.


**Based on a role-play that took place between me and Tumblr's AnnieTheAnnie. **

"You have what you want," the world's only consulting detective growled, "I'm here. Now let him go." I could see him furiously scanning the area, searching for two things. The first was me. The second was whoever had done this to me. I knew which was his priority, and as such, I knew that I'd be stuck here for a while.

I was wrong. The man loved to do that - prove me wrong. I saw his eyes focus on me, and then he was running, faster then I'd ever seen him run before. Before I could blink he'd unfastened my gag, making fast work of the rope binding me to the pole. "You... You came." I swallowed, rubbing my throat.

"Stating the obvious again, John," he frowned, "Why wouldn't I come? I need my blogger."

"I..." I knew I'd regret the words as soon as they slipped out of my mouth, but that didn't stop me from saying them. "I thought you didn't care."

I could practically hear his mind whirring as he puzzled out my words. Funny, that the smartest man in the world had such a hard time with social interactions. "John, you are my friend. My _only _friend. Is it not normal to care for such a person?"

"Y-yeah..." I lost track of the thought that had been in my mind, instead being blinded by a white hot pain. "O-oh God. M-my arm. Sherlock, it hurts."

This was unlike any other pain I'd ever felt. It lit my veins on fire, drove me out of my mind. I could barely remember to breathe - let alone form complete sentences. Even thinking was a challenge. All I knew was the pain.

"What's wrong, John? What hurts?" his long fingers started gently probing my body, searching for the offending item. He gently pulled off my jacket, tucking my shirt sleeve up. "Oh."

"Oh?" Rather amazing that even in my mental state, he could _still _piss me off. "A-ah!" my scream surprised even me. "S-sher! It hurts!"

"John. Calm down. Just.. hush. It'll be okay. I need to know what hurts. What do you feel, John?"

I couldn't talk. I literally could not talk. I'd never been so terrified in my life - I couldn't remember how to form words. I knew Sherlock looked worried, and I knew that I hurt, but that was all that I knew.

"John." his voice was like a life-line to sanity, one that I clung to desperately.

"Sherlock..." I don't know how I managed to stutter out the word, "Veins... My veins... My veins are on fire. They're burning, Sherlock, they're burning. And I'm losing my mind."

He was angry, so angry, angrier than I'd ever seen him in my life. Not at me - but at the man who did this to me. I could see the question in his eyes - who? I didn't know though, and it killed me. The one question Sherlock Holmes would ever have - and I couldn't answer it.

He turned my arm over, palm facing the roof, and examined the needle. Always business, that one. "John, you need to stay with me. I have to take the needle out. It's going to hurt but - got it."

My eyes rolled back in my head as I kicked out helplessly, foot missing Sherlock entirely. But the needle was out - the pain had subsided a small bit, but the majority was still there. It didn't seem worth it to me, but Sherlock seemed satisfied.

And then the next wave of pain hit. It was everywhere, all around me, and I had no way of escaping it. "S-Sher, h-h-help me."

"There's..." his voice wavered, which scared me more than the things physically happening to me. "There's nothing I can do for you right now, John. I'm going to take you home, now. He's given you a high dose of heroin - and also something else, something I need to identify. Please John, fight it. You have to fight it. Can you fight it, John? For me?"

"I-I can try. You know, I'd go to the ends of the earth for you, Sherlock." I barely caught myself - revealing my feelings were really not something I wanted to do at that moment. Or ever, for that matter. "My... My sanity Sherlock, it's coming and going in waves. I don't know what..."

He silenced me, swooping me up. For his light-weight, he was very strong.

And then it went black.

"John? John!" If he let himself slip, even if it was just for a few seconds, he'd be gone. I knew that, but he didn't. He had no idea how close he was to slipping off the ever-present cliff of death. Non-existent. The word didn't fit John well - another reason for me to save him.

"No, God, no, John!" I muttered, shaking him. He wasn't going to slip away. I wasn't going to let him. "I can't do this without you. You're my only friend, my only friend in this whole world. I'm not going to leave you. John. Open your eyes, John! Please!"

And he did. The sigh of relief escaped my mouth before I was able to stop it, but I didn't have the time to fume over it. I may have drawn him back this time, but the time after this? Or the time after that?

"Don't let it take me, Sher! Don't! It hurts, oh it hurts, it's black. Sher, it's so black. It wants to hurt me. Make me better. Make me stop hurting, Sher." I'd never heard John this out of control or in this degree of pain. I had to help him. I had to help him.

I couldn't move, not without putting him in even more agony. "I'm right _here, _John! Concentrate. I'm here. Fight it. Fight it, John Watson. You can fight this."

"Don't wanna leave. Don't wanna leave you." his words were choppy and broken. The first tickle of dread touched me. "Let me stay with him! My life finally means something, don't take me away. Don't take me away. S-sher!"

"I'm here, John. I'm here."

He whispered something about being tired. No! No! My fear paralyzed me for a moment. He was so close to slipping away - he would without a doubt if he fell asleep.

"No. John, please. Stay awake. You have to stay awake. I love you." I didn't think twice about the words coming out of my mouth. I'd have said anything at that point to keep him fighting - but the words rang true. He was my only weakness. And Moriarty was the only one who could have figured that out. Bastard.

"I love you too, Sher." his hands tightened around my coat, tangling themselves into my scarf. "My Sher." his voice was getting weaker - not a good sign. I had to get him out of here.

"Yes. Good. Yes. You are mine and I am yours. My John. You are my John - oh my God, John. Open your eyes. Not here, John, not now. Open your eyes!"

He opened them, an action which clearly caused him much pain. He didn't... He didn't know how close he was to slipping away. He just knew it hurt. My John was hurting, and I couldn't help him. I shifted his position in my arms so he could rest his head on my shoulder - the more energy he could save, the better. Unless he let go and fell asleep. Then... oh God.

"Sher?" he whispered softly, his breath tickling my ear. I nodded, striding quickly towards the exit. This room was the same as the one Moriarty had first revealed himself to me - something I was sure he'd done on purpose. The pool was exactly the same, so similar I wasn't sure - but now wasn't the time to be concerned over that. My John was hurting. My John was... He was dying, and I had to help him. "I want to go home, Sher."

"Right. I'm taking you home, John. Right now."

"And I want to eat jam. I want to sit in your chair and eat jam. I want to sit in your lap. In your chair. Eating jam. And then I want you to kiss me. Can we do that, Sherlock?"

He was talking. Good. As long as he was talking. "Yes. Of course we can. I'll even buy the jam this time. And milk. I'll buy milk. K-kiss you?" That was a surprise. I hadn't thought he'd be sexually interested - but again, now wasn't the time to be debating those things. "We'll do whatever you wish when we get home, John. You'll stop... You'll stop hurting, John. We'll do this together."

"Thank you, Sherlock." he stuttered softly, pressing his nose into my shoulder.

The words were tumbling out of my mouth before I could stop them. I don't know why - perhaps I thought it would be my last chance to say them. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry John. I'm sorry this has happened. I'm sorry that I pretended to be dead. I'm sorry that I left you alone."

"There is nothing to be sorry for, Sherlock." never did it cross my mind that those would be the last words truly from John, before the drug started to take the only thing I had left in this world from me.

"Sher.." he gasped.

"W-what, John?" we were almost home. We were so close. I hadn't been willing to risk a cab, so I'd carried him. Thank God we weren't too far away.

"I.. don't know?" That sentence shouldn't have been a question. Oh, God.

"I'm losing m-my mind."

We had reached the flat, and I quickly carried him upstairs. Mrs. Hudson was already in bed. Good. Her mothering instincts would have only made the situation worse.

"Look, John, we're home. I'll go make you a nice cup of tea, hmm? And I'll get you some jam."

The terrified look on his face when I mentioned leaving made me sit down next to him, taking his hand in mine. "Shh, John. Shh. It'll be okay. Look at me. I'm right here. I'm here, John. I always will be here."

"I know." his voice trailed off, and we sat there in silence for a few minutes. I couldn't leave him, I knew I couldn't. But if I couldn't leave him I couldn't find out what was killing him.

"There's the tv. You love your crap telly, don't you? And there's your chair. You sit there. And there's your violin. You like to sit in your chair and play awfully just to anger Mycroft. And you do. Oh, Sher, am I dying?" It wasn't hard to tell that the man was on the verge of tears. John Watson. Army Doctor. My John. My army doctor. Mine.

"Of course not." it was a lie, and I knew it was a lie, but he didn't. I think it might have been that that killed me the most. Even after everything I'd put him through, everything that had happened to him because of me, he still trusted me. "I don't want to die." his voice was firm, very firm. Too firm. Childish.

"I... John..." I shook my head. "You'll be fine."

"I don't want to die."

"And I don't want you to die, either." I forced a smile on my face. My John, my sane John, would have called it out as soon as he saw it. He didn't now.

"Hold my hand." he whimpered, tears starting to spill over. My heart sank to my stomach.

"Oh, God. John, I've been holding it this entire time."

He was trying to stutter my name. Shit.

"John, I love you. I have loved you for a long while, now. You need to know that. I love you. You are the reason I survived the fall. You are the reason I am still alive. Oh, God.." even I was starting to sound choked up.

He was trying to say he loved me. I would have known it even if he hadn't been speaking.

"Shh. You wanted me to kiss you, hmm?"

He nodded, and I smiled down at him. Things were sinking in now - this might be my last chance with him. He might be gone before the morning. His whimper drew me back to the now, though, and I leaned in, softly pressing my lips to his. He returned the affection, although extremely weakly, only causing my heart to sink even lower. I memorized the feel of his mouth against mine, his taste, every detail of the kiss, because I knew it would be our last. Our first and our last. I could tell he was slipping, and I knew he wouldn't be with me for very much longer.

His arms weakly tugged at my coat, an attempt to get closer, and I obliged. He whispered something that sounded an awful like, "I don't want to go." His voice was soft, too soft. It hit me along with waves of nausea. I couldn't identify the second drug in his veins - because you can't identify something if you already know what it is. My John was going to die.

And the tears started to fall. He didn't notice, bless him. I couldn't let him notice, not now. Not in his last minutes. Keeping him here was selfish. He was hurting, he was hurting for me. He was going to die anyway, and it was only going to get worse. I had to let him go. I had to let him go, before it got worse.

"Sherlock, I love you." So clear that he'd had to fight as hard as he could to string those four words together cleanly. All for me. It broke my heart.

"I love you, too, John. I love you too." I didn't know what to do. I didn't know. Pulling him close didn't seem like the right thing to do, but it was the only thing to do, so I did it.

"I'm sleepy." he muttered.

I had to pause for a few seconds before I was able to respond. "Then go to sleep, John. And I will see you in the morning." He repeated my last word, voice soft and confused.

"Yes, John. My John. Morning." I suppose that was a desperate plea, to any god or goddess or higher power that was listening.

His body went limp a few minutes after he closed his eyes.

For the first time, I held John in my arms.

For the last time, I held John in my arms.


End file.
